


The Lost One

by Papa Small Might (Anestassia)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Classic Who, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, because I love all the doctors, will eventually go back into
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 16:11:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15246993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anestassia/pseuds/Papa%20Small%20Might
Summary: She couldn't remember who she was, what she was, how she KNEW things. But… that was okay. She was okay. Or at the very least, she'd BE okay. Because she wasn't alone. He was there. He'd SAVED her and he was there. So she'd be okay. Even if she never remembered....Doctor Who OC, will eventually go back into the Classics.





	The Lost One

_Burning_. She was  **BURNING**. Everything around her was  _burning_.

Pale blue eyes blinked open. Her vision filled with a wide, bright baby blue sky filled with fluffy white clouds.  _A deep breath_. In and out. She lay on the dirty desert floor. Watching the clouds pass by with idle interest. Her thoughts drifting through her mind with equal intangibility and careless wonder.  _Where am I?_  She couldn't help but wonder.  _Who am I?_  Perhaps a more pressing question. Or was it? Did it really matter, who she was? Did anyone know who they were? Or were they simply themselves? The questions passed, one after the other, like sand sliding through her fingers.

Time passed without notice. The sun, bright and almost oppressing in its heat as it peered down at the empty land below, inching across the sky. Slowly rising to its height before falling towards the horizon. The once baby blue sky changed, shifting into a wondrous mix of purple, red and orange with hints of yellow and soft pink.  _Like a painting_. She thought. Swirling colors, warm and subtle stretching across the sky.

Pale pink lips chapped and colored with dry blood shifted into a small smile as her distant, lost gaze took in the countless stars shining brightly in the deep blue sky. A soft, almost  _nostalgic_  emotion filling her chest as she shifted, lifting an arm out, reaching towards that beautiful, wonderous sky.

She could imagine, laying there, that she could touch those stars. The picture so vivid in her mind, she couldn't help but wonder if it was a memory.  _Could it be a memory?_  A moment of her past long forgotten? Or perhaps a dream. A hope for the future.  _Her_  future. Did she have a future? Could someone without a past hold a future?

_She sighed_ , letting her arm fall back to the rough desert floor. Her gaze shifting, searching for something in that near endless sky. For what, she wasn't sure. It was more a  _feeling_  than anything. A feeling that there was something there. Something  _important._  She couldn't help but wonder if this  _feeling_  was the result of some forgotten dream as well. A dream saturated in starlight and laughter and  _hope_.

Time passed. The night growing darker, a bone-deep  _cold_  settling in her too thin frame.  _Another sigh_. Burdened with the knowledge that she'd have to move. A thought only reaffirmed by the sharp howl that pierced through the darkness. Reminding her that the desert surrounding her was a dangerous place. She couldn't remain here forever. Or rather, she  _shouldn't_. Not if she intended to ever return to… where did she intend to return? Did she have a place to return? Perhaps… perhaps she could find a place to return to.

With a, albeit half-thought, plan in mind, she pushed herself to her feet. Glancing at the vast desert surrounding her on all sides. She considered her options, before picking a direction and starting her journey.

She walked.

And she walked.

And she walked.

Step after step after step.

Wandering the seemingly endless desert without care or destination. The night stretched on, the soft breeze shifting into a stiff wind that set her matted, flame red hair whipping around her face and the tattered and singed, once white, gown draped over her thin and pale frame dancing around her. Still, she walked on.

Hours passed, and still, she walked. Careless of the cuts and bruises littering her bare feet and legs. Numb to the pain and cold that had overwhelmed her petit, malnourished frame.

She wasn't certain how long she'd walked. Nor could she remember how far she'd gone. But her empty stomach had ached, and her tired limbs seemed to shake under her weight. Each step  _hurt_. Her legs protesting every movement. Yet she refused to rest. Some small, quiet voice in her mind telling her it'd be a  _bad idea_  to stop now. That, should she stop, she might not find the strength to start walking again.

Time continued to pass, and the horizon began to shift. Buildings. There, along the hazy horizon with the red-orange sunrise as an almost idyllic backdrop, were buildings.

A town? Or perhaps a city? She couldn't say for certain. It didn't really matter in the end. Because it was a  _place_. A place with buildings. Which meant a place with  _people_  and, hopefully,  _food_. Her stomach  _growled_  at the thought, and she wasted no time in resuming her steady trek along the otherwise barren landscape. A new sense of eager  _anticipation_  filling her heart with  **hope**.

A small, joyous smile curled at her lips as she approached the settlement. She'd barely managed to reach the outskirts before her legs gave out underneath her, the weight of her journey coupled with the tragic state of her body too much for the thin, sparsely muscled limbs to handle. Still, she refused to give in, pushing herself forward, dragging her battered body along the dirt and gravel, ignoring the pain it caused as the action irritated her countless injuries and aching limbs.

She'd managed to drag herself a few feet forward, fingers brushing against cool concrete before her blurry vision turned dark. Her tired mind refusing to allow her another moment of consciousness. She could only hope she'd wake up again. And perhaps, perhaps things will be better than. Perhaps her aches and pains would ease away. Perhaps… perhaps she wouldn't be alone. Perhaps someone would find her. Maybe, if she was lucky, someone would  _save her_.

_**BURNING**_. Fire licking at her skin.  _Consuming her_. Her blood  **boiling**  in her veins.  _Everything was burning_.

She woke with a gasp. Wide, blue eyes darting around, searching desperately for… for…  _confusion_  settled on her features as the dream  **NIGHTMARE**  she'd been suffering from only moments before seemed to slip away. Nothing but a phantom sensation left in its wake. Why was she scared again? She couldn't…

She tried to move, tried to shift positions to ease the odd, uncomfortable pressure placed on her arm, only to discover she  _couldn't_  move. She was trapped. Or to be more precise,  _strapped_. Thick, leather straps. Secured firmly around her thin wrists. Holding them down against a cool, steel table. Upon further inspection, she found her ankles were also held down by matching leather straps buckled firmly in place, rendering her immobile. Curious, she tried to lift her head. Intent on investigating her surroundings.

From what little she could see from her awkward position, she was in a room. The three walls in sight comprised of polished steel, a large, darkened window taking up the majority of the wall to her left. For observation. At least, that's what it appeared to be for.

A door opened somewhere behind her, interrupting her inspection of the curious room. The sound echoing almost  _ominously_  against the steel walls. Her gaze shifted to focus on the polished steel wall in front of her. A hazy, distorted reflection of a man in what appeared to be a gray suit walked into the room. She watched the reflection as the man walked towards her. Each step accompanied by a small  _click_  of his shoes against, what she assumed to be, tiled floor. A softer, echoing  _clack_  accompanying the sound as another man entered the room behind the first. The second man dressed in a black, or possibly dark blue suit. Navy, she guessed. The grey man continued with his rhythmic, steady steps. And her gaze shifted, watching as he walked into view. He  _smirked_  when he noticed he had her attention. The Navy-clad man remained just out of view. His fitted suit rustling slightly as he shifted on his feet. He seemed almost  _nervous_.

"Lift her." The grey man ordered. His voice dripping with confidence and smug satisfaction. She didn't like it.

At the command, there was an answering  _clank_  and a soft  **whirring**  of technology as the hard table she was laying on seemed to  _tilt_. Within minutes, she found her position shifted so she was perpendicular to the floor, her thin wrists and damaged ankles  _aching_  as they were now forced to support her weight. The man standing before her looking up at her. Seeming almost  _proud_.

"You're awake. Good." Loud and imposing, the words echoed against the steel walls. An underlying  _promise_  darkening the otherwise jovial tone that accompanied the statement. 

"You know, you're quite the  _curious_  little alien. I mean, two hearts, a binary vascular system. Not to mention your  _blood_." He  _laughed_. Loud and excited, like he'd found something  _unbelievable_. The sound sent shivers down her spine, her curiosity for the grey-suited man shifting into apprehension. 

"Plus, there's the fact that you just  **appeared**  out of nowhere. Just,  _poof_  and then you're there. Like MAGIC. Even stranger, you're  _saturated_  in radiation. Now, my scientists figured that radiation has something to do with how you just  _appeared_  out of thin air. I'm inclined to believe it. Problem is, we don't actually  **KNOW**  what radiation it is, and our instruments are having…  _problems_  studying it. Hell, they could barely  _detect it_. Which poses a problem. Because you see, my scientists, they figure that this radiation of yours could be harnessed to create near  _instant_  teleportation."

She tried to listen to his passionate speech. She really did. It sounded important. But she was just so  _tired_. The exhaustion from her rather long journey through the desert paired with the injuries that had been littering her malnourished frame made it  _difficult_. He mind was drifting. The man seemed to notice her lack of attention, and his smile fell.  _Disappointment_  etching into his features as he observed her.

_He sighed_. The sound oddly  **heavy**. Weighted. Like it carried a promise. Of what, she couldn't say. But it made her nervous. The man gave her one last searching look before turning his attention to the man in the dark suit standing behind her. 

"Seems like she's having trouble listening. I think we'll need to bring Simmons in. Maybe he can help  _encourage_  her."

The grey man shifted his attention back to her. That proud smirk returning with a vengeance. Something almost  _sinister_  in the man's expression.  **FEAR**  gripped her as she watched the grey man walk from the room. His strides sure and  _confident_. The man in navy seemed to hesitate a moment before quickly following behind him. She could be wrong, but she thought she heard him whisper an  _apology_  to her before closing the heavy steel door behind him.

Time passed without mark. Her fear fading away as the exhaustion returned. Her eyelids grew heavy, and before long, she'd found herself sleeping despite the awkward position and mild pain.

_It hurt. So much fire. Everything was on fire. And she was_ BURNING. _When would it stop? Would it ever stop? Why wouldn't it_ STOP!

The door opening woke her from her nightmare, and she blinked the remnants of sleep away with a small yawn. Her gaze shifting, searching the room for the one who woke her. A man in a bright orange jumpsuit walked into view pushing a metal cart full of tools. He glanced at her, dark brown eyes alight with sadistic glee as he took a chance to observe his new  _test subject_.

She tilted her head, wincing slightly at strain in her muscles at the action. Her bad sleeping posture had done her already aching and battered body no favors, and she could FEEL the knots that had settled in her muscles. Already she missed the desert. The endless, open space and bright blue sky. The fresh air and soft breeze. She couldn't help but wonder if she'd ever see it again.

"Now, Van Statten has quite a few things he'd like to know. Let's see if we can get him some answers."

And thus, started the torture. Or rather, the  _experiments_ , as they called them. But for her, it was nothing but  **TORTURE**.

She couldn't say how  _long_  she'd been there. Couldn't say when one day ended and the next began. It seemed endless. Simmons would visit her regularly. Talking to himself, or occasionally asking her a question as he set about cutting her apart and sewing her back together. Testing the limits of her body. Investigating just how this alien body of hers worked.

Every so often, the man in the grey suit, who she'd later learned was  _Van Statten_ , would visit her. Bragging about something he'd learned from their many  _experiments_  or questioning some peculiarity they'd discovered about her body. No matter what he'd had to say, she never responded. Only ever offering him a dull, emotionless stare. Her already fractured mind had seemed to  _shatter_  under the constant stress and pain she was subjected to. Her thoughts disjointed and distant, drifting through her mind without rhyme or reason. Her emotions locked away, hidden from the world. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Wouldn't offer him the honor of hearing her voice. No matter what he did, she refused to give him  _anything_.

Van Statten seemed to grow progressively more  _annoyed_  with her. It would seem, every time they'd discovered something about her, or every step forward they'd make in their research,  _something_  would happen. As if some unknown force seemed intent on ensuring their experiments remain  **incomplete**. It had infuriated the man, and after each accident or set back, he'd seemed intent on taking his anger out on her. She didn't mind. The man was more  _vocal_  in his anger than anything. Often threatening, but rarely ever  **DOING**  anything. The man, it seemed, lacked the stomach for it. It would be  _amusing_  if it wasn't for Simmons. The sadistic scientist always seemed intent on doing what his boss couldn't. Often finding new and inventive ways to torture her in the name of  _science_.

Time passed.

And passed.

And passed.

Days and Weeks and Months and Years slipping by.

_And then she had a visitor._

Van Statten had walked into her room with an air of  _excitement_. That familiar, proud smirk tilting his lips once more. She couldn't help but wonder  _why_. He rarely visited her anymore. Apparently, she was a  _lost cause_. Now, he was placing his hope in his first specimen. The 'Metaltron', as he called it. She'd never seen the being, but every so often she could  _hear_  it. A soft, pleading voice begging for help. She'd try to sooth it, but it was… difficult. Especially when her own thoughts were so broken and fractured.

Perhaps he'd had some progress with his  _Metaltron?_  That would explain the excitement. But… no. No that wasn't it. She could tell. The glint in his dark eyes promised something else.  _Why?_

A man followed behind him, and her curiosity grew as she took a moment to observe this stranger. The man seemed confused himself. Burrow furrowed as pale blue eyes took in her battered body. Lingering on the many scars decorating her pale skin. He seemed to grow  _angry_  as he realized just WHY she was here. That was a first. She'd never seen someone grow  _angry_  for her before. Angry at her, and perhaps the occasional note of sorrow or pity from the people who'd follow behind Van Statten's footsteps. But never anger.

_Why are you angry? Are you angry? You're angry. But not at me? Why? Hello?_

His expression shifted into genuine  _surprise_  at the silent questions. And she couldn't help but wonder if he'd  **HEARD**  her. So few actually  _heard_  her here. So few wanted to. Could he hear?

_Hello? Can you hear me? You can hear me! Angry. Why are you angry?_

"This is subject 2. She doesn't talk, but she can understand us. Our doctors haven't found any  _physical_  reason for her silence. But she remains mute despite our  _continued_  efforts to make her speak. She doesn't even  _scream_."

Van Statten spoke with an air of authority. Interrupting her fractured thoughts as she shifted her attention to the man who claimed  _ownership_  over her. A small frown pulling at her features.

_Dangerous. He's dangerous. Run. He'll hurt. Run. Run so far away. Please. I'm Sorry. He's dangerous. He'll hurt you. Don't let him know. Don't let him know you can hear me. Don't let him know you're not human. He'll hurt. Run. Please run._

"We've tried everything, but after a couple weeks, we couldn't even get a  _sound_  from her. And yet, some of my employees report hearing a  _voice_. And they're all absolutely positive it's hers. Occasionally, they say they can hear her  _singing_. Sometimes it's questions. Other times it's just random nonsense. One man said he heard her ask what  _fish fingers_  were. Needless to say, he was fired on the spot. I don't have time to waste on bad jokes. Still, it's  _curious_  isn't it Doctor. How can someone be  _heard_  when they never speak? My scientists think it might be mental. They figure she's using her  _mind_  to communicate. Absolutely  _fascinating_  isn't it?"

_Doctor? You're a doctor? No. Not like them. You're different. Run Doctor. Run. Don't let him know you're different. I'm sorry. Please run. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

The Doctor stared at her a moment longer. His anger had  _shifted_. Morphing into something  _deeper_. Like a storm, growing,  _building_  into something dangerous. She pondered his anger. His anger FOR  **HER**. Not at her. He wasn't angry at her. He was angry  _for her_. Such an ancient anger. Such a dangerous anger.

Van Statten continued his speech, ignorant of the burning  _anger_  building in the man at his side. Smug confidence growing as he started explaining a few of the more mild experiments they'd conducted on the alien. The Doctor  _tensed_. And for a moment, the air itself seemed to  **still**. Each second felt like a lifetime, and then the tension  _passed_. But the anger was still there. Simmering beneath the surface of those ancient blue eyes. The Doctor seemed to consider her for a moment. And she could see it. She could  _see_  it in those ancient eyes. The promise. He'd help her. He'd  _save_  her. And she smiled. Soft and thankful and apologetic. She smiled, and he smiled back. Proud and angry and  _promising_. He'd save her. He'd save her and he'd make Van Statten pay.

_Help. Help them. Someone. I don't know. I'm sorry. I hear them. Begging, PLEADING for help. I can't– I try but I don't… Help them. They're trapped. So long they've been trapped. The first, before me, his first prisoner. Please. I'm sorry. Please. Please help._

Van Statten, for all his prideful boasting, seemed to miss the silent moment between the two aliens. The Doctor seemed to use the man's ignorance to his advantage. Shifting on his feet and stuffing his hands in his pockets, he shifted his attention to the man at his side. A mask of casual  _indifference_  sliding into place as he rocked back on his feet.

"You said this was your  _second_  subject? Mind if I take a peek at the first."


End file.
